


stars, hide your fires

by protectoroffaeries



Series: they think me macbeth [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Implied/Referenced Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Love, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, References to Macbeth, Religious Guilt, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:16:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9875846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectoroffaeries/pseuds/protectoroffaeries
Summary: “Stars, hide your fires; Let light not see my black and deep desires…”





	

**Author's Note:**

> i've never written anything like this before...
> 
> comments are always appreciated! :3

God forgive him, he is only a man.

He cannot resist the temptation that is Alexander. It is a crushing blow to a young man's pride to be done in by affairs of the heart, which are meant to exist in tragic  literature and women's minds, not amongst the ranks of the Revolution’s soldiers. But it is John's heart that screams whenever Alexander is near; it betrays him, and it compels him toward an intimacy with his dear friend that contradicts Nature herself.

It is useless to believe, as John once did, that it is a matter of misplaced attraction due to a lack of women. That would imply two untrue things: that John had an inclination toward the fairer sex before Alexander, and that he could simply adore any attractive character as much as he adores the personification of his downfall.

It is not lust. Much to John's disappointment, it is not lust.

No, when John gives himself to sin, he gives completely, irredeemably. He gives himself to Alexander, his mind, his body, his soul, his  _ everything. _ John does not know if it is good or bad that for them that Alexander takes the infatuation, the desire, the love John gives, but he does, he takes and he takes and he takes

~

John is weak. He knows.

But he is not so far removed from his morality to have no shame for the way he feels. It is not what is intended; not normal, not acceptable, not right; and John feels every  _ not  _ tying up his chest, constricting him with until he cannot breathe for the weight of his guilt and shame. Sometimes John welcomes the idea of a knot, one to help him hang.

~

In the dark, he can hide from his confounding confliction. The night is still, without a witness, and there is no God here.

Alexander gives.

His heart thrums in tandem with John's; they hammer against ribs, against muscle, against skin in a desperate attempt to reach each other. Their bodies have given all the aid they can; Alexander clings to John as if he is a deadly vine, intertwining their flesh as much as their fate. John is unable and unwilling to protest.

~

The brilliance regularly displayed by Alexander does not include common sense. He talks too much. He pushes too hard. His concept of gentlemanly behavior is skewed by his upbringing. It is as endearing as it is annoying, almost as if John likes those small things that make Alexander positively imperfect.

The ink stains on his hands. The constant flow of radicalisms and biting criticisms from his quill. The splotches beneath his eyes.

They are not all  _ good,  _ but they are all Alexander.

~

“I do not wish to sound foolish,” Alexander whispers one night. His bare leg is hitched around John's own; they have already committed their nightly sin. Now they have the gall to bask in it until dawn reminds them of themselves.

“You rarely sound foolish,” John tells him, and it is true.

Alexander continues as if he hadn't heard John. “But I'm afraid the question must escape the confines of my mind, lest it torment me for any longer.”

John waits.

“Do you love me?” Alexander breaths. The words crawl across John's skin the form of a warm bursts of air, though he cannot entirely say the shiver that runs through him in the moments after Alexander speaks are due to a measly temperature change.

“Did we not just make love?” returns John, instead of stating the truth outright. God is not here, and yet John still fears that his entire existence will slant if he confesses his deepest, most treasured secret. 

“John.” Alexander sounds uncharacteristically helpless. Like he needs John to say it. His fingernails dig into John's hip.

It is pointless to deny.

So John says: “I love you, Alexander.”

The stars do not twinkle as his lover draws him into a melting kiss that causes his lips to fall open and a tongue slip into his mouth. Everywhere they touch, there is heat, the suggestion of being burnt.

“I love you, John.”

~

Death is inevitable.

John makes it inevitable with his recklessness. He has Alexander to atone for; he can only hope now that the bullet that pierces him is enough.

(John does not regret; therefore, a thousand bullets could never be enough.)

Alexander has a wife. A son on the way. As much as John's wife and daughter condemned him, Alexander's will redeem him. This reality comforts John as he falls to his knees, as he coughs up blood, as the agony flowing in his veins fades to an ominous numbness.

John's men drag him off the battlefield, but there is nothing that can be done. Whether or not God forgives him is irrelevant now.

John is more concerned with the realization that  _ Alexander _ will not.

~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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